Once a long time ago in a place that no longer stands, there was a young girl by the name of Oria. She was different from the girls back then, she was more
sure of her self, more well you could almost say more life like. Many girls back then were not just slaves to their family and their men, they were slaves of their own making, not Oria, she allowed
no one to control her not even herself, maybe that’s why many said she was the devils right hand, but others said she was graced with the power of god, which one or even one, we would never
know.

One day as Oria was sitting under a tree watching time move and people walk a couple passed by discussing nothing more then what Oria loved far beyond
the binds that keep our hearts in place. Horses, but they were talking about one horse, the horse, the most beautiful horse in all the lands, and the worlds to. The horse was as black as the
midnight sky when it’s storming, when lightning’s flashing and thunder’s rumbling, when trees are swaying and branches are creaking that was how black he was. They said not only was his coat the
darkest of black but so was his heart, they said the blackness had consumed his heart until only a void remained.

Oria knew that was the horse for her, she went to the blackest part of the forest where she wasn’t able to tell ground from sky, tree from water, it all
mixed and blended into each other becoming one. She watched and she waited far beyond the point any normal human could have, but she did because she was driven by something more, something strange,
what it was neither she nor anyone could ever tell. As she watched as she waited he came, he came like the darkness comes, slowly, gradually, until finally after so long it was there, he was there.
He commanded the darkness like a king commands his subjects, with everyone’s attention on him, no one speaks well he is, no one moves when he stands, they all wait and hold on to every movement,
every sound he makes, until it excludes all else. This horse was the king of darkness, the prince of the night sky, and he allowed no pretence. With his presence came his name it was a name that
could not be spoken aloud by a human but it conveyed to something like Night Storm so he came to be known as Night Storm. No one could capture a storm no one could tame a storm or could
they?

Oria came as close to it as anyone. She grew to know the storm grew to trust him in a sense as he did to her as well. Every day she went to the black of
the forest every day he was there. Oria became even more put out then usual grew even more distant from humans, some people say that she was becoming one with the forest, but that’s something you
only read about in fairy tales isn’t it, or maybe just maybe her life was a fairy tail to be seen as one and told as one. For one day she went to the forest and didn’t come back, she stayed there
her whole life, until she was as old as the blackness she lived with. But no human is immortal as so she died. If no human is immortal then no horse can be either yet Night Storm can still be seen,
if you watch from him just as night is taking over they day. They say he well not die, not until Oria comes back to him, to put a halter of woven light on his head and lead him away. Will that day
ever come? Who knows, all I do is convey the story as it was, but then who I’m I to know what happened hundreds of thousands of years ago?